Child
by Aster Uchiha
Summary: A story told from Sasuke's PoV. Oneshot, post Itachi's death. Done to 'Shadow' by Red 'They are mine.'


**I wrote this as an outlet for some stuff. It's based off one of my old nightmares. It's told from Sasuke's PoV and post Itachi's death. **

**Song Used: Red-Shadow**

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Child

The bed sheets are cold. I stifle a yawn and push them back deliberately. My hand presses on the mattress as I slide down and satisfaction tugs at the odd normalcy of its firmness. Only a thin layer of padding keeps it from being solid, and as the icy fabric gives the slightest under my weight, reminders come shrieking back.

_Sand makes it way between my toes as I run clumsily, but it doesn't matter. Itachi sees me over his shoulder and pretends not to notice. At the last moment he turns and I grab him. He laughs as I almost take him down and press my face to his shirt._

Pieces of hell go as quickly as they come. That person is now lying cold, somewhere in this underground cavern. Cold and firm, like the bed spread I'm now sitting on. It's a painful thought, I swallow it quickly and chase it by numbing my mind as best as I can in this setting. I need to be out, need to be occupied, need a task. Unfortunately it appears I have to wait the mandatory six hours through the vulnerability of sleep.

My back hits the bed and I drag the sheets up stiffly, wanting not to be here with every fiber not dedicated to replaying bad memories. Now though, it appears all I have are bad memories. Filtering my thoughts into a bearable emptiness I shut my eyes and force sleep.

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Air is pulling itself from my lungs, and even its absence I can taste blood. The smell is thick, encasing me the same way the bed sheets do. My chest clenches, needing air, but I deny its cries. I can't breathe, can't draw attention to myself now.

The sound of shuffling reaches me and I can hear it circle the bed. Slowly, curiously. It's eyes are on me. Then I feel them leave. The drawers against the wall make awkward scratching sounds as the uncoordinated teases them out. Trepidation suffocates me still, but now I chance opening my eyes.

The ceiling meets my panicked gaze first, and painfully slowly, I guide my eyes to crimson scene I can taste. The world spins, and I want to scream, but I hold it back. I close my eyes, fearful the demon now sifting through my clothing will sense my agony. Even now, the terror next me, separated by being on top of the covers, pastes itself to the back of my eyelids. I want to open them, wipe it away, but I don't dare.

It stays, watching me like the evil I can hear examining my belongings. Itachi. Next to me. Logic says he can't be, especially not the way he is. But logic has nothing to do with this. So much blood. I wonder, is it possible for a body to let that much? He is only one person. And so horribly mutilated-how long could someone live injured like that? Did he die before he could relish the agony of it? I pray so as the image burns itself into my memory.

I can stand the sight of it no longer and I reopen my petrified gaze to the ceiling, lying as still as possible in a silent plead that it won't find me. The ceiling is my only semblance of comfort. I watch it desperately, trying not to breath. I do not want to be found. I believe I will die of terror if I'm found. The creature won't be able to hurt me before I leave myself behind. At least I hope.

Then I can feel its eyes. Like fingers. They slide up my chest and take hold of my face. Almost against my will, I turn to face it. My heart pounds until I think my chest will explode. I can't breathe, even though now I want to.

Wide black eyes meet mine. They are shaped with innocence, but their depths take me to hell without hesitation. My demon is a child, holding my shirt. It watches me, intent gaze unfathomable. Dangerous. No love can be found on that face, peering from the wild bangs and mess of spiked hair. It twists the cloth in its tiny hands, approaching the bedside with measured steps. My heart goes wild and a cold sweat breaks over my body. Suddenly I can breathe, but all I can taste is blood. I'm drowning in its smell, suffocating , paralyzed. By a child with black eyes and small, reaching hands.

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I sit up, throwing the covers back. My stare falls first to the dresser. It is undisturbed. There is no shirt on the floor. Itachi is not mangled and empty beside me. A nightmare. My stomach turns and I want to vomit. There is no blood in this air, but I can feel it on my tongue anyway.

The child- he somehow strikes me as the most important. As I try to right my spinning head, I reconjure the demon's face. Then my heart catches again. I nearly collapse and fall over my knees. I know the boy's face. Those are eyes, and tiny hands are forever embedded in my mind. I couldn't forget them if I tried. They are mine.

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